


Silent Night

by Copgirl1964



Series: Soldiers [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28256421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964
Summary: This is an AU with both Greg and Mycroft serving in the British army during World War 1.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Soldiers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085873
Comments: 30
Kudos: 69
Collections: 12 Days of Mystrade and Friends, Mystrade Holiday 2020





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavender_and_Vanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/gifts).



> I thank @Lavender_and_Vanilla for another beta-ing job well done as well as her constant support and encouragement.

The snow was falling in thick flakes and the wind reached with its icy fingers for everything and everyone foolish enough to walk outside that night. Huddling deeper into his woollen scarf, Captain Greg Lestrade hurried through the trench towards Major Holmes’ dugout. Of course, they had to be among those who were stuck in the trenches over Christmas. 

He knocked on the wooden door before entering the small room the Major called his home and used as an office while living in the trenches. Inside the dugout it was only a little warmer than outside but at least it was dry and there was no wind. Standing at attention, Greg was about to deliver the formal greeting but was interrupted by the Major.

“No need for formalities tonight, Gregory. We’re quite alone. Please, come to the oven. It’s much warmer back here.”

With a smile, Greg approached the man who’d become much more than one his superior officers over the course of the past months. He unwrapped the scarf and took off the gloves to stretch his hands towards the little oven that stood in the back of the tiny room. A couple of chairs, a wooden desk and a cot furnished the room but compared to the living arrangements of himself and the other soldiers, that was pure luxury.

No sooner than he’d reached the Major, he was pulled into the man’s arms for a quick hug and an equally quick kiss. It was almost over before his brain had registered the tender gesture. Showing their affection for each other openly was too risky and one never knew when a soldier would burst into the dugout with important news to report.

Greg smiled fondly at the Major and handed him a small paper-bag which held a few pieces of coal.. “Good thing you’ve been a naughty boy this year Mycroft.” 

Mycroft laughed. “How would you know if I’d been naughty or nice, Gregory?”

“Because I’d been there and,” he held up a finger, “I was just as naughty.” The man grinned, showing a row of strong, white teeth.

Mycroft chuckled. Until he’d met Greg Lestrade, he’d been a serious man. Even as a boy he’d found it difficult to laugh. That had changed the moment the handsome Captain walked into his life.

“I asked you to come here tonight to write some letters but, “a faint blush coloured Mycroft’s wan cheeks, “I finished them earlier so we have time to celebrate. You only need to write the addresses on the envelopes so it’s your handwriting on the outside.”

Spending time with Mycroft while writing letters he dictated would have been enough of a gift for Greg but Mycroft’s words pooled warm in his belly. A few years ago, he’d been sad and desperate to leave home, having just found out that his wife had been cheating. Joining the army had provided him with that opportunity but he’d never have guessed that this terrible war would allow him to meet the love of his life. The moment he and Mycroft had met it became clear to them that their relationship would last for the rest of their lives. All they could hope for was that the war wouldn’t end either one or both of those lives.  
From an uncle, who’d died in the war, Greg had inherited a small but beautiful house in Oxfordshire. Provided things went well for them, that’s where he hoped they would live, once the war was over.

“It was a good excuse to come here and spend some hours with you. The boys are full of pity that I have to work while they’re celebrating,” Greg replied, referring to the soldiers under his command. Not that much of a celebration was possible in the icy-cold trenches.

Greg pulled a small package from his jacket and handed it to Mycroft. “My share for our Christmas feast,” he explained with a smile. Sitting down, he took a pen and began addressing the envelopes. Meanwhile, Mycroft laid out their Christmas dinner.

All things considered, they really would have a small feast that night. Mycroft had received a parcel from home just two weeks prior. He placed a piece of Christmas cake, an apple, a thick slice of ham, bread and a small bottle of cognac on the table. From Greg’s package he added a piece of cheese, butter, more bread and a jar with pickles.

“I also brought this,” Greg said and pulled out a pack that, to Mycroft’s utter delight, contained a whole ounce of tea.

They received rations of tea for every day but it was so little that Mycroft just knew Greg must have either traded something else to get the tea or saved some each day for at least two weeks.  
A single candle and a hand-painted card with a Christmas tree, sent to him by his brother Sherlock, were all the decorations on the table.

Once the tea was ready and the letters placed inside their respective envelopes, they sat down at the table. Both men were feeling a little overwhelmed that they could spend Christmas together, but soon they were talking about what they wished for once the war was over. They ate their food slowly, enjoying the special bits and pieces they had saved for the occasion. All in all it was a sorry meal for Christmas but what mattered, was not the food itself, but the company. Their fingers touched every so often, which brought smiles on their glowing faces.

Eventually only tea, cognac and the piece of Christmas cake was left. Before Mycroft cut the sweet treat in half he pulled an envelope from his breast-pocket and handed it to Greg.  
“Happy Christmas, my love.”

Greg’s hand shook as he took the envelope, hoping it contained what he wished for. Slicing it open with care he pulled out a photo that showed Mycroft and himself. They’d posed in front of a tank, making it look like one of the typical photos that were taken during the war, when a victory was celebrated. Mycroft had flung his arm across Greg’s shoulders and they both grinned like lunatics. There had been nothing to celebrate that day and it had been pure chance that one of the photographers had been round. Craving a picture of their loved one, that could be carried round without worry, they’d tried to make it look like they were nothing but brothers-in-arm.

For the lack of an actual frame, Mycroft had placed the photo between two pieces of cardboard to provide protection.

“It’s perfect,” Greg said eventually, tears in his eyes. He placed the picture back between the cardboard and inside the envelope, which he put it into the left breast-pocket of his shirt, right over his heart.

From a pocket of his jacket he pulled a small package that was gift-wrapped in simple blue paper. “And a happy Christmas to you, my beloved,” Greg said, handing it over to a stunned Mycroft.

It was obvious that Mycroft hadn’t expected a present but he knew he would love whatever it was Greg gave him. Carefully, he began to peel away the paper.

Greg’s heart thundered in his chest. Would Mycroft like it and, more important, would he grasp the meaning?

Mycroft found a white handkerchief in the package. To the casual observer it looked as if it was embroidered with what appeared to be the Holmes family’s coat of arms, two lions holding a shield between them. To Mycroft it became instantly clear though that it was not the coat of arms of the Holmes family but a clever mix with the crest of the Lestrades. Instead of a second lion, facing the other, he recognised a dragon and… Mycroft gasped. On first glimpse it looked like a shield, but closer perusal revealed that it was, in fact, a heart those beasts held between themselves.

“Gregory, how…?” Mycroft was at a loss for words.

“My sister Ella,” Greg said, more than happy by Mycroft’s reaction, “she’s an embroiderer, works for lords and ladies all over England. She knows about us, never had a problem with it. All she wants for me is to be happy. Asking her to make this, I’ll probably be in her debt for the next decade but…” He wasn’t able to continue because Mycroft had moved from his chair, pulled Greg in his arms and slammed their mouths together without hesitation. The kiss was short but passionate and left them both breathless.

Running his fingers through Greg’s hair, Mycroft stared intently into Greg’s eyes. “You wonderful man, you have no idea what you do to me, what I want to do to you right here, right now. If I did, the Germans would hear your scream because I would make you come so hard you’d forget everything but my name. Unfortunately,” he kissed Greg more softly this time before looking deeply into his eyes, “this will have to wait.”

“Yes,” Greg agreed, trying to tramp down the arousal that flooded through his body. “That has to wait, but this,” he squeezed Mycroft’s hand which held the handkerchief, “this means that my heart is already yours.”

“As mine belongs to you,” Mycroft added. Swallowing, he’d to use the handkerchief to dab at his eyes where tears had appeared, before folding it carefully into his breast-pocket.

Taking off their boots, they sat on Mycroft’s cot. A blanket wrapped around both their shoulders kept away the cold where they leaned against the wall. Their shoulders touched and they’d propped up their socked feet on a chair, wiggling their toes in the warmth coming from the oven. Sipping their cognac and nibbling on Christmas cake, they listened as somewhere outside a soldier began to sing.

“Silent night, holy night…”


End file.
